


A Hundred Pages of Foreplay

by ObsidianMichi



Series: Solas and Eirwen Shorts [7]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianMichi/pseuds/ObsidianMichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eirwen Lavellan and Solas read aloud some smutty literature written about the Herald of Andraste and 'Commander Chulain Rutherbuck'. Eirwen performs voices. Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hundred Pages of Foreplay

Eirwen leaned against Solas’ chest. Her forehead resting on his cheek, she stretched out along the couch. One arm wrapped uncomfortably behind his neck, she used the other to prop up a small folio. Her elbow dug awkwardly into his stomach.

“Here,” she said, cheerfully, “read this passage.”

He frowned, though his lips quirked slightly against her forehead. “You must ask Leliana to stop delivering these to you.”

“Josephine bought me this during her last trip to Val Royeaux,” she replied. “It’s apparently all the rage in knitting circles comprised of ancient baronesses.”

“Indeed?” He kept his tone carefully neutral. “I was unaware.”

“That half the Orlesian nobility is reading tales about my heaving breasts, rapidly pounding heart, and my tendency to swoon when a halfway handsome man in armor strides into a poorly lit room?” Running her teeth across her lower lip, Eirwen smirked. “Who could know?”

“Any man who pays attention to their reading habits, I suspect.”

She glanced up at him.

His eyes dropped down to her. One eyebrow rose, just ever so slightly.

Her smile widened. “Which you don’t?”

“I did not say that,” he replied. “It often pays to know what others are thinking. After all, even the most seemingly inconsequential moments sometimes build to greater ones.”

“Are you saying you read their porn for me, Solas?”

“It is in the library,” he replied, his voice still utterly neutral, “placed near a copy of ‘Swords and Shields’, where any might find it.”

“Oh?” Eirwen leaned in a little closer. “We should tell Varric. Hear the full disclosure about Andraste’s ass, rip offs, and terrible literature.”

“Then, we would both miss any enjoyment derived from you acting as your fictional counterpart and performing the voices.”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “Perhaps later?”

His lips brushed her ear. “I believe such a course would be wise.”

Eirwen grinned. “Only if you promise to do the Commander.”

He chuckled. “If you insist, vhenan.”

“Oh, yes, indeed.” She lifted the book. “I do.”

His fingers moved through her hair, feather-light on the back of her scalp. Smoothing it down, brushing out fine strands with callused tips as he cleared his throat. “Very well.” He shifted a little, rolling her a little closer. “The mighty Herald of Andraste, the Chosen One, and, formerly, contentedly child devouring Dalish heathen, the Inquisitor stalked across the room. She moved back and forth at a blistering pace, so blistering her dainty bare feet—for she was unaccustomed to shoes and fiercely magical—left burn marks across the gray stone floor. What might have caused the brave Inquisitor to behave thus?” His lips moved against her temple. “To take an action so intensely unordinary to her natively coolheaded and distant personhood?”

“While this isn’t written in my native language,” Eirwen said. “I don’t think personhood works in this context.”

Solas laughed, but kept reading. “What might have troubled her so?”

“I don’t know,” Eirwen replied cheerfully, slinging her arm across his chest. “Tell me.”

He glanced down at her. His voice grew intense, serious. “Love.”

“Love?” Eirwen gasped. “Oh my. Poor, dear,” she hastily checked the back cover, “Elinwen, to be captivated by such a terrible emotion.”

Snorting, Solas pressed a warm kiss to her brow and turned the page. “Our cold hearted Dalish temptress had never known an emotion such as this. Neither so strong nor so deep, as it penetrated her straight to her core. Penetrated like a spear through a robust flank of boar meat.”

“Boar meat?” Eirwen asked.

“Mmm,” his voice dropped even lower and he murmured into her ear, “left out to rot in the sun.”

She swallowed. “Romantic.”

“Quite,” he agreed. “You see, dear reader, her heart was filled with longing. Longing so complete and gnawing, it captivated her every thought. Her every dream. Every wish she held dear in her soul. She could not admit it, though her eyes followed the brave former Templar Chulain Rutherbuck wherever he chose to go. She could not admit it even to herself that she longed to see what lay beneath his golden armor, to trace the cut of muscles well-sculpted by years of Chantry training, and to tease his straw-colored locks. How might she admit that her only true desire in the face of their great enemy was to allow his holy zeal to fill her, fulfill her, in ways she had never before known.”

“Poor Chulain,” Eirwen sighed. “She sounds like quite the stalker.”

“Elinwen does appear to be unusually fixated,” Solas said. “Perhaps there is a special trait about this Templar which readily draws the eye.”

Coiling her index finger around his leather thong, Eirwen traced her way up his soft shirt. Her lips twitched. “His holy zeal.” Lightly, she tapped his chest. “For a heathen mage, it is irresistible. We all long to be drawn to the path of righteousness, Solas.” She glanced up at him. “To be _purified_ in the Maker’s holy fire.”

His lips brushed her nose. “And what of you, vhenan? Do you long for the same purification?”

She grinned. “Perhaps, though I prefer my zeal to be more grounded.”

Solas chuckled.

“Alright,” she leaned forward. “Continue.”

“I warn you, vhenan, your turn is fast approaching.”

She planted a kiss firmly on his jaw. “I await it with both bated breath and a valiant heart.” Her grin tugged on his cheek. “Together, we shall persevere through this madness!”

Again, he lifted the folio. “A knock sounded against the door, piercing through Elinwen’s hazy, maddened thoughts. Her pacing came to an abrupt end, and she wheeled to face the door.”

“Enter!” Eirwen cried.

“Her voice escaped, pitched higher than her average tone. For all her hopes and dreams lay with whomever was beyond that door. Whether they were to be raised high or crushed beneath the hard jackboot of yet another unfeeling soul. The truth of Elinwen’s life was not in her fiery beauty, but the tragic nature of her youth. A cold and harsh life amongst the forest heathens, those who worshipped only a cavalcade of distant deities.”

“Oh, may it please both the Creators and mighty Andraste for Chulain Rutherbuck to be beyond that door,” Eirwen whispered. “Such a door which holds all my hopes and dreams. Oh, fly foul door, and the Abyss take you should you carry to me a message most disastrous! My broken soul is already cast into the abyss without hope! For how might I face ancient evil without knowing a holy love? Inside my blackened and shriveled heart, there is only death. Without love, I shall die ere I ever see my enemy!”

She blinked. “Ah, this one did their research, vhenan. They know a few basic curses.”

Solas’ neck muscles constricted as he swallowed a laugh. “Her desperate plea must have absolved her to the heavens for who should enter but the one she most desired.” His voice roughened, rising to a softer approximation of Cullen. “He was glorious as a lion, replete with his armor and golden pauldrons. A handsome and shining example of Andraste’s grace upon the world. ‘My lady Herald,’ he said quickly, wetting his lips with his tongue, ‘I know not what drew me here, yet only that I had a feeling deep within my bones, within my soul, and my…’ a blush suffused his cheeks, for he had only just realized she spent her mornings in a gossamer dressing gown with one button popped free, and his eyes dropped hastily to his sword, ‘mind. I suspected you had need of me. Thus, I came as quickly as I was able.’”

“Oh, Commander,” Eirwen whispered into Solas’ ear. “I… I dare not know what to think.” Lips brushed across his skin, her breath tickling him with each breathy gasp. “Your sword is so large and… powerful. Your holy cause so appealing, though I be merely a Dalish heathen unknown to the bright mercy of Andraste.” Voice pitched high, she giggled. “I know I should resist you, you alone know how hard I have tried! Yet I cannot. I _cannot_!”

Solas snorted. “Rutherbuck crossed the room quickly, his previous shyness forgotten, to sweep her up in his arms. ‘You know not how I have wished to hear these words. My daily prayers to the Maker for you to notice my existence. I know I deserve you not, for I am no hero. Only a humble Templar bending knee to the one who has been chosen to reign above us all.’”

“Well, he lays it on quite thick,” Eirwen said.

Nodding, Solas rolled sideways until they were nose to nose. “He does, indeed.”

Her fingers trailed down the curve of his hip and she leaned in, batting her lashes. “My love, though I am but a Dalish heathen and ignorant in all the ways of the civilized world, I hope you will find it in your heart to love such a broken creature as I.”

Thumb tracing her lower lip, Solas drifted closer. “And I, a mighty Templar, shall have naught in this world if you do not gift me your heathen heart. Though you have yet refused the love of our mighty Andraste, I believe there may yet be hope.”

Eirwen blinked. Then, she gagged. Pressing her forehead to his, she began to laugh. It split her sides, catching in her throat, as she coiled inward. Her legs tucked up, knee hooking over one of his thighs. Laughed until tears leaked from her eyes. Squeezing them shut, she giggled.

“Perhaps it has grown too melodramatic?” he asked mildly. “Or too offensive?”

“Can’t it be both?” she asked. She glanced up at him. “Do they have sex at least? Or is it just another hundred pages of foreplay?”

“No,” he replied. A flick of his wrist shut the folio, and he dropped it to the floor. “In this one, they go on for nearly twenty.” His arms slid back around her shoulders, fingers sliding up into her hair. “Most of the positions are anatomically incorrect and one manages to be outright impossible without magical assistance.”

“So, the ability to twist our heads about like a corkscrew?”

“Precisely.”

Eirwen smiled. Stroking his cheek with her knuckles, she leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’d like to try our own ‘anatomically incorrect’ positions?”

“It is… something to think about.” His teeth closed on her ear. “And may require some consideration.”

Her lips pressed to his cheek. “So, another few hundred pages of foreplay then?”

His laughter rumbled against her, a warm murmur passing off his mouth to tingle on her skin. His hand hooked underneath her knee and he lifted it up. Her back arched in response. Her lips parted in time for his to close on them, and they drifted deeper into the kiss.

Only for a moment, however, because the next a book came flying down from the second story and almost struck Solas squarely across his brow. It bounced harmlessly off the dual-layer magical barrier of singles each had erected over the other.

Solas’ hand stroked her hair back, worriedly. The way he always did whenever he was unsure if she’d been injured. A frown deepened on his brow.

Eirwen’s head tilted back on the couch.

Above them, Dorian leaned off the railing, a second volume already in his hand. One of his more rogue-ish and dashing smiles lit his lips. “Well, Solas?” he called. “Nothing to say?”

Solas didn’t raise his head. Instead, his gaze searched her in the same way his fingers probed her hair. “Did it hit you, vhenan?”

His eyes are serious, she realized. Slowly, she shook her head. “Not even close,” she said. “I think the book was intended for you.”

Blue-gray irises darkened and grew stormy. Solas’ lips tightened. He sat up slowly, deliberately, but with the stiff movements of one greatly irritated.

“Ah, excellent!” Dorian said. “You two were so wrapped up in your little love nest, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the rest of us existed!”

“So, you felt throwing a few tomes in our direction was the perfect remedy?”

“Not the only one, no,” Dorian replied. “However, this path seemed the most fun.”

Solas’ hands balled. “And if the Inquisitor had been injured by your pursuit of it? What then?”

“Harm? Nonsense. My aim is unerring,” Dorian said. “Besides, it’s not as if you’d ever let any harm come to her.” He laughed. “Or she to you, for that matter. In fact, were I timing your reactions, I’d tell you that our dear Inquisitor’s barrier was up three seconds faster.”

“It is not the facts but the principle!” Solas snapped. “There are too many vagaries in probability accurately predict what might have happened!”

“No,” Dorian replied smoothly. “Nothing did.”

Sitting up, Eirwen sighed. _And, now, we’re back to my busy schedule._ Her legs swung over the edge of the couch, and she stretched out her hand. Gripping Solas’ wrist, she tugged him back. “Fun as it is to listen to both you gentlemen debate my personal safety from flying objects, Dorian has managed to remind me that I must to return to work.”

“Well, I cannot say that was my intention. All your cuddly snuggly was making me a bit queasy, however.”

Solas let out another heavy sigh, rubbing at his temple with two fingers.

Eirwen wrapped her arms around Solas’ chest, hugging him close, and stood on tiptoe. She peered at Dorian over his shoulder. Then, Eirwen let her lips wander up toward the tip of his ear.

“No,” Dorian groaned. “No, I truly didn’t wish to see that.”

“Then, for your sake, I advise you do not look,” Solas replied. Still, in her arms, the stiffness in his shoulders relaxed some. “I know you have business to attend to, vhenan. I will not keep you.”

Eirwen pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Roast him, cook him, and stick him on a spit if it makes you happy,” she murmured into his ear. “Whatever. Skewer him.”

He chuckled. “I will do what feels appropriate.”

She smiled. “Your choice.” Then, she kissed his cheek again. This time much more sloppily. “I’ll see you sometime tonight.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Preferably before tomorrow morning, if you can manage it.”

Eirwen laughed. “I make no promises.”

She let him go slowly, turned and headed out of the rotunda toward the main hall. Behind her, she could feel Solas squaring his shoulders, the mental rolling of his sleeves, as he prepared to give Dorian the verbal thrashing both men adored so much. It was going to be quite the debate, though what it ultimately ended up being about was anyone’s guess. Use of magic. The plight of the elves. Slavery. The fall of Arlathan. Overlooking her personal safety. All topics were probably up for grabs.

 _Nothing I can do about it,_ Eirwen thought as the first noble in the hall caught sight of her and began heading in her direction. She withheld a sigh. Fun time for her was over.

**Author's Note:**

> No other fanfic was harmed in the making of this story. I wrote all pieces sporked by Eirwen and Solas, and I looked at no writing other than mine to do it. Well, no okay, I used basic romance tropes that I've seen everywhere. I know people can be touchy, but no, this isn't about you. I picked Cullen because of the Orlesian's tendency to fetishize, sexualize, and romanticize him. He's the member of the Inquisition that I'd pick if I were writing a horribly inaccurate romance novel, especially if I knew nothing else about the organization. Easy pickings.
> 
> The latter part with Dorian was inspired by a fancomic, I saw on Tumblr. I've since lost track of both the art and the artist. Either way, it was depicted with Dorian hitting Solas with a book while yelling his classic "Take that you filth!"
> 
> I hope this made you laugh as hard as I did while writing.


End file.
